


toma mi mano (y ven conmigo)

by Anonymous



Series: la misma canción, una ruta diferente [1]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: (insert This Is Fine meme here), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, I did my best, god i just want them to be happy???, ok so apparently I had to change the warning, poor coco never even had a dad bc of ernesto el asesino de la bastardo, some chapters will be short some will be long, there's some spanish dialogue but i'm latino let me live lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-09 18:44:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12894393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: What if Héctor had offered Imelda and Coco to join him on his temporary leave? How would things with Ernesto have turned out if Héctor's family had gone with him?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched the film yesterday and I LOVED it. Then, I thought of this idea. So I wrote it.
> 
> I realize it's not like, high quality, but hey - I never claimed that I was the best author in the world. I'm just a beginner.

Imelda didn’t hate music. In fact, she loved listening to the songs her husband came up with—but, there was an uneasy feeling in her gut, after last night, when Héctor had told her he’d be going with Ernesto to pursue his dreams of being a musician.

He had offered her to come with him, and to bring their little girl, Coco, with her _—“We could tour the country together, as a family,”_ he’d said.

She had only agreed because he was her husband, the love of her life, and the thought of raising Coco alone at home with Héctor absent made her feel sick to her stomach.

However, she still felt uneasy about Ernesto. There was something about that man—something that seemed rather off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Either way, the morning they’d packed their things into the wagon and left, Imelda kept a close eye on Ernesto, watching as he and Héctor conversed.

They stopped at an inn around evening. Coco slept in a bed next to her parents’ in their temporary room.

As she tucked her daughter in, Imelda whispered, “Mi hija, I cannot tell you how much your father and I love you. And I promise that no matter what happens, we will always be there for you.” She smiled at the little girl, before continuing, “However, there is this feeling in my gut…that things will not go as smoothly as your father says. If something bad happens, I want you to get help—you know those men with badges? If anything bad ever happens during our stay with Mr. de la Cruz, I want you to get those men. They may be strangers, but they are strangers you can trust.

If, and only _if_ , anything bad happens, I want you to know that there will never be a time where Mamá or Papá will ever stop watching over you and loving you, because you are our pride and joy. Our lives couldn’t be happier than they are now, with you here.”

Coco simply nodded and yawned, before her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep.

Imelda smiled, before she kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Goodnight, Coco.”

As she headed over to her and her husband’s bed, she heard Héctor mumble softly, “Ernesto is a good man.”

She sat down, pausing for a moment. She wanted to believe him on that, she truly did, but a part of her had some doubts. “…maybe he is,” she said slowly. “But, that could change. He could pull some stunt that’ll put us in jeopardy, while it might benefit him. We can’t be so sure.”

“Imelda, he and I have been friends since childhood,” Héctor replied, frowning a little. “Don’t you remember when I introduced him to you?”

Imelda was silent, as she recalled the memory.

_“Imelda, this is my childhood friend, Ernesto,” Héctor had said, as he pointed to the other man. “Ernesto, this is my love, Imelda.”_

_Ernesto had stared at her for a moment, giving a skeptical look that only she had seemed to notice. He then smiled and took her hand, shaking it. “Es un placer conocerte, señorita.”_

_His voice sent chills down the woman’s spine. Imelda looked at Ernesto’s hand, before slowly shaking it as well. “El placer es… mío.” She winced as Ernesto kissed her hand, and quickly yanked it out of his grasp._

_Ernesto’s smile faded. “Oh.”_

“Yes…he was – something, alright,” Imelda lied.

"I promise, you'll both get along just fine," Hector said as he laid back. "You'll see."

Imelda pursed her lips as she rested her head on a pillow. ' _I wouldn't be so sure about that, mi amor_ ,' were her last thoughts before she soon closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep, like her child had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda 'meh', I know, but I promise the next one will be a little better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Planned on uploading this in the morning, but got sidetracked sadly. My apologies.
> 
> ~~and yes I realize that Imelda and Hector were probably born in the 1800s, where like, breakfast inns and other things weren't the same as they are now but this is a film where skeletons have hyper-realistic eyeballs, so. I'm merely going by film logic by these standards.~~
> 
> Also, I should've said this before, but there will be a lot of Spanish dialogue throughout this fic. A lot.

“Mamá… Mamá, wake up!” were the first words Imelda heard when morning came. She opened her eyes, only to see her daughter sitting in her father’s place, wearing a yellow dress.  

Imelda smiled at the child. “Good morning, Coco.” She looked around the room for a moment. “…where is your father?”

“Papá is downstairs, talking with Ernie,” Coco replied, smiling at her mother.

‘Ernie’ was what Coco had been referring to Ernesto as ever since she could speak. Unlike her father, who looked up to Ernesto as a friend, she looked up to him the way many children her age would look up at adults who were friends with their parents – an honorary uncle.

Imelda didn’t blame her daughter, she was only five years old – a five year old’s view on the world was much more different than a twenty-four year old’s view on the world. Coco did not have as much experience as her mother did with skeevy looking people. She didn't have to deal with callous words from men who'd hide their true nature behind a smile – all Coco ever dealt with was the usual things a five year old had to go through.

Imelda got off the bed, before she crouched down and reached underneath it to grab her shoes. She placed them on the bed, before searching through a bag she had taken with her, filled with clothes. She grabbed a simple, purple dress and went to the bathroom.

Before she closed the door, she said, “I’ll be out in a few minutes. I’m just going to wash off. You can go downstairs – get some food. You need to eat.”

Coco nodded, and left the room as her mother closed the bathroom door.

“Papá, Papá!” Imelda heard the little girl exclaim. After that, she heard footsteps rushing downstairs. She chuckled, shaking her head. ‘ _She definitely gets that from her padre_ ,’ she thought, as she placed her nightgown aside, before stepping into the tub.

She turned on the water, waiting for it warm up a little, before she sat down. She let out a sigh, just as a bit of steam arose from the water. “Now _this_ is one of the things makes this trip worth it…”

She closed her eyes, trying to think of peaceful thoughts, but her mind was clouded by her husband’s friend. “Even when I’m trying to relax, I can’t get my mind off this man – this _fake_ ,” she groaned, rubbing her temples. Maybe her wording was a little harsh, but then again, he wasn’t initially the peachiest person when they met – with that look of skepticism, and the smile he used to cover it up. In a way, he was a bit of a fake.

After a few minutes passed, she grabbed a towel and got out of the tub, drying herself off. She put on her dress, and then opened the door. She grabbed her shoes from the bed and slipped them on, before she finally left the room, heading downstairs.

“Wait, so you’re saying we should do the performance tonight, only a few hours after we reach our destination?” she heard Héctor ask.

“Yes,” Ernesto replied, in his usual suave tone. “Is there a problem with that?”

“No, of course not – it’s just a little soon.”

“Some things just begin sooner than others, mi amigo – like becoming a star.”

Imelda listened, but remained silent. Once she reached the bottom of the steps, she felt as if everyone’s eyes were on her.

“Imelda!” Héctor cried out, walking over to his wife. “Buenos días, mi amor.”

“Buenos días, Héctor,” Imelda replied, smiling warmly at her husband. However, her smile faded as Ernesto walked over. “Buenos días, Ernesto,” she said, her tone flat as ever.

“Buenos días, Imelda,” Ernesto responded. “Cómo estás?”

“Estoy bien.” Imelda then muttered below her breath, “En su _mayor parte_ , de todos modos.” She turned back to Héctor. “Where is Coco?”

“She’s over there.” Héctor pointed to one of the seats nearby, where the little girl was sitting, eating some scrambled eggs.

Imelda nodded at her husband before she made her way over to her daughter.

Coco looked at her mother and smiled. She pushed her plate aside and hugged her mother. “Mamá, I heard Tío Ernie and Papá talk about Papá’s lullaby,” she began, “Tío Ernie wants to sing it in front of a lot of people tonight.”

Imelda froze. Her arms fell to her side as she registered what the child had just said. Ernesto wanted to turn little Coco’s lullaby into some type of performance gig. Her body shook as she turned from her daughter, to look at her husband’s friend.

What kind of sick joke was the world playing? What kind of person would ask their friend to use a lullaby made for their child – and _only their child_ – as a song to sing in a crowd of (possibly) hundreds of people, who wouldn't even understand the true meaning of the song?

Why did Héctor agree to this? _What was he even thinking?_

One thing was certain: Ernesto was on the thin ice now, _and_ she’d have to have a stern talk with Héctor once they all reached their destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was going to put the performance in, but I decided to save that for chapter three because that type of jump-cut didn't feel right to write out. So, in the next chapter, you'll see the performance ~~and Imelda secretly hoping to kick Ernesto's culo~~.


	3. Chapter 3

The ride lasted for nine more hours, until they finally reached a house big enough for three adults and a child. How convenient it was, that the house was located near a stage that was not too far away.

“Aaand we’re here!” Ernesto announced, putting down the reigns as he got off his seat.

Once Héctor had gotten off his seat, they went to the back of the wagon, where Imelda and Coco were sitting.

Coco’s eyes lit up as she saw her father spread his arms wide, and quickly moved over to him. “Papá!” She rushed into his arms, and he placed her down on the ground while ruffling her hair. She then looked at Ernesto and began to hop up and down. “Tío Ernie, guess what?”

“What is it, niñita?”

Coco stopped hopping, and began swaying back and forth. “I’m gonna be a musician just like you and Papá one day.”

Both men smiled at the little girl. “I’m sure you will be a fine singer,” Ernesto said, patting her head. “If you take some lessons from me, of course.”

Héctor looked at Ernesto, but before he could say anything, he felt something tap his shoulder. He turned around to see Imelda. “Ah, Imelda—”

“—Héctor, may I speak with you alone for a few minutes?” she interrupted him. She tried her best to stay calm, but it was hard, considering the news she’d heard earlier.

“Of course.” Héctor nodded. And so, he followed her as she began to the back of the house. “So, what is it that you want to—”

“What were you thinking?!” Imelda hissed, finally letting out her frustrations at her husband.

“I – I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean by that,” Héctor replied, stammering a little as he backed away from the seemingly-scorned woman.

“Oh, don’t play dumb!” Imelda rolled her eyes. “You agreed to letting _him_ use Coco’s song for your first performance – how could you do that? That is her lullaby, a song meant for family – not a bunch of strangers!”

“I know, I know but—listen…” Héctor looked around, making sure no one was listening. “I tried telling him that we should think of a different song to use, but he kept insisting and he just wouldn’t listen to a word I said. He said that if I wasn’t going to comply, then I should just do this on my own, because he wouldn’t work with someone uncooperative.”

“So you gave in? Just like that?”

“It’s not like I had much of a choice, I mean—every person comes a lot way to get to a certain point in their life. It wouldn’t be right for one of us to walk away at an opportunity to perform in front of an audience.”

Imelda frowned, turning away from him as she rubbed her temples. “That son of a…” She shook her head. She turned back to Héctor. “I hope that after this, you put some sense into that man.”

“I will, I swear on my life,” Héctor whispered, taking Imelda’s hand and placing his own on it in a reassuring manner.

Imelda sighed. She looked him in the eyes, whispering, “Good luck.”

A small smile made its way across the man’s face. He kissed her forehead. “Thank you.”

* * *

Indeed, that night, there was a big audience that boomed and cheered as Ernesto danced as Héctor played his guitar, both singing what was once a lullaby – now, it was being sung as some type of love ballad(*) to the public.

“For even if I'm far away, I hold you in my heart; I sing a secret song to you each night we are apart.”

Imelda watched from backstage, with Coco tugging her dress as the song went on.

“Mamá, do you think that one day, I’ll be able to sing onstage one day, just like Papá and Tío Ernie?”

Imelda smiled sadly. Her daughter’s innocence was as evident as ever. “You are your father’s daughter, so yes – yes, you will.”

Coco clapped her hands as she continued to watch the performance.

“Remember me, though I have to travel far. Remember me, each time you hear a sad guitar.”

Ernesto threw his arms up into the air as he sung the last verse, while Héctor plucked his guitar’s strings, trying to keep up with his friend’s rhythm.

“Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be; until you're in my arms again, remember me!”

The crowd cheered even louder than before. Many of its members stood from their seats, clapping.

“Thank you, thank you!” Ernesto said as he bowed. “You are all too kind.” He then noticed Héctor was simply standing in place, so he elbowed him and whispered, “A guitarist doesn’t just stand around. _Bow_.”

“Oh, right…” Héctor began bowing as well, hiding a scowl as he saw his friend blowing kisses to the crowd. He began to notice how most of the applause was directed towards Ernesto, even though it was _he_ who wrote the song, not his friend.

Sure, Ernesto wasn’t taking full credit – but that didn’t stop Héctor from feeling a little sore.

* * *

Ernesto walked backstage, letting out a satisfied sigh, with the knowledge of all the success he had made tonight.

However, that satisfaction was soon forgotten as he felt a something rough hit his back. He fell to the ground, letting out a groan as he clutched his chest.

His eyes narrowed as he turned around, only to see an all too familiar face pick up a black shoe.

“My apologies, Ernesto,” Imelda began, “my hand must have slipped.”

She smirked as she began to walk away, leaving Ernesto to lie on the floor.

“Maldita perra,” he hissed. He watched as she began to walk back towards him.

“ _Hijo de puta_ ,” she spat, before she walked away once more.

“Mark my words, woman,” he muttered below his breath, as he slowly got back on his feet, “I _will_ get back at you, one of these days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really gotta stop writing chapters in the morning, then deciding to take long breaks afterwards. But hey, it helped me discover how much I do not enjoy describing song performances - because apparently, it's not something I'm good at. But I'm proud with most of this chapter, so I'm not gonna mope that much - just a little salt.
> 
> And, to clarify: yes, it'll most likely get worse before it gets better. But hey, you get to see Imelda get payback at Ernesto - I kept my word on that, did I not?
> 
> * = pretty sure in the film, Ernesto's version is meant to be a love ballad. I could be wrong, but at the same time, a lot of the movies he starred in seemed to have some romance thrown in, so it's plausible his bastardization of the song is a 'romantic, lovey-dovey' type.
> 
> Also, 453 views in less than a span of three days?? You're all the best. <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where the angst starts, even if it doesn't seem like it at first.  
> Also, remember that T rating? Well, now you'll learn _why_ it's there. Changed the warning as well, because I _did_ call Ernesto a 'bastard' in the tags for a reason.

“Papá,” Coco started as Héctor tucked her into bed, “how come Mamá doesn’t like Tío Ernie? He’s a nice man, right?”

Héctor paused. “…yes.” _For the most part_ went unsaid, for he didn’t want to worry the girl with his troubles. “But what gave you the idea that your Mamá and Ernesto dislike each other?”

“Because Mamá threw one of her shoes at Tío Ernie after the performance, while you were still onstage,” Coco answered simply, clutching the blankets. “I asked her why she did it after she got her shoe and whispered something to him, and she said, ‘One day, you’ll learn why.’”

Héctor stared at his daughter for a moment, registering what she’d just told him. Imelda threw a shoe at Ernesto – but _why_ did she do it? Was it to get back at Ernesto for—?

He smacked his forehead as he reached the conclusion. “Oh, Imelda,” he groaned, “must you let your anger get the better of you, mi amor?”

“Huh?” Coco tilted her head in confusion.

Héctor shook his head. “Never mind – I’ll have a talk with your mother later,” he said quickly. “Buenas noches, Coco.” He kissed the little girl’s forehead before he got up and left the room, shutting the lights off as he closed the door behind him.

He placed his face in his hands, sighing as he made his way through the halls. He appreciated the fact that Imelda tried sticking up for him, he did, but the extremes she resorted to by throwing a _shoe_ at Ernesto… Héctor silently prayed, hoping things wouldn’t get worse after this, and that everything would be alright by tomorrow morning.

However, his prayers were interrupted as he bumped into something – or rather, _someone_.

“Hola, Héctor,” Ernesto greeted his friend in a rather calm tone – which didn’t help soothe the nerves that were already present within the lanky man.

“Ern…Ernesto – so good to see you at such a late time,” Héctor said, his legs wobbling as he forced a smile.

“Now, what’s with the anxiety, mi amigo?” Ernesto asked, smiling a bit as he took a step closer, to which his friend took a step back.

“Me? Anxious?” Héctor laughed a bit. “Now, why would I be—?”

“—you know what she did, don’t you?” Ernesto interrupted, his smile now replaced with a small frown.

Héctor looked around, desperate to find a way to get past the bigger man. “I…I…”

Ernesto grabbed Héctor by his shirt collar. His eyes narrowed as he whispered harshly, “You told her, didn’t you? You told her about our argument. That’s why she did it.”

“I didn’t know she would do that,” Héctor whispered, looking his friend directly in the eyes. “She just asked, and I told her…”

Ernesto didn’t say another word. He let go of Héctor’s collar, before his fist collided with the other man’s chest. He didn’t stop once his ‘friend’ fell to the ground – instead, he kicked his sides, causing him to hiss in pain. Once he was finished, Ernesto placed his foot on Héctor’s chest.

“Since it seems I cannot trust you to keep certain matters between us a secret,” Ernesto began, “it seems that I have to resort to these measures. Now, listen: you want to be a musician, right? And I want to become a star. So, here’s a deal: you stay and write the songs – no matter what their original value may be – and I sing them. We make some money, though maybe I make a little more success – either way, we gain a large audience.” He then stomped his foot. “But if you are not willing to take up this offer, then I cannot guarantee I’ll be as gentle with your precious wife and child as I’m being with you right now.”

Héctor’s eyes widened in horror. The pain that surged through his body no longer mattered to him, once he heard his so-called friend mention his family. “You…you wouldn’t…”

“While I would love to get some payback for what your wife did to me, I would hate to harm a hair on your cute little girl’s head.” Ernesto faked a smile. “So, do we have a deal?”

Héctor closed his eyes. He would not let his ‘friend’ see the tears building up. “Yes, we have a deal,” he whispered.

Ernesto removed his foot from Héctor’s chest. “Excelente. Comenzamos mañana.” He then began to walk towards his room.

Héctor got up, coughing. He tried to keep quiet, so that no one else would wake up. Placing his hand on the wall, he tried to stand up steadily.

Just as Ernesto opened the door to his room, he turned back to Héctor and said, “Oh, and if you tell anyone about this, then I’m afraid I cannot assure your family’s safety.” After he finished speaking, he entered his room and shut the door, leaving Héctor alone in the hallway.

Héctor looked at the end of the hall, where him and Imelda’s temporary – now, possibly permanent – room was.

“Lo siento, mi amor,” he whispered, as a tear rolled down his cheek. “ _Lo siento mucho_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's confirmed: misery follows everyone everywhere, even in non-canon compliant situations. 
> 
> #ProtectHéctor2k17


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst here and there. Coco is yet again, a ray of sunshine ~~and a heavy sleeper, since *points to previous chapter*~~. Ernesto begins to be a not-so-subtle jerk.
> 
> I tried focusing on Héctor a bit more in the second half of this (kinda brief?) chapter. I'm not entirely sure if I should be proud of this one or not though. Hmm.

When morning came, Imelda noticed a few things when she woke up.

The first thing she noticed was how Héctor seemed to be more…worn out than usual. There were bags under his eyes, and when she saw them open, they were bloodshot. It was very concerning.

“Ah, good morn—” he didn’t finish his sentence, as he started coughing.

“Héctor, are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he replied, with a wave of his hand. It didn’t sound very convincing, though.

“Are you _sure_ you’re alright?” Imelda questioned.

“Yes, I’m _fine_.” Héctor then got out of bed, walking towards the door. “I’m…going to make some breakfast,” he said slowly, before he opened the door and walked out of the room.

Imelda stared at the doorway for a few minutes, registering how strange her husband’s behavior was. He never lied to her before, so why the sudden change now? It just didn’t make any sense to her.

However, there was one thing she knew for certain: she would have to find out what was going on with him, one way or another.

* * *

Héctor tried his best to push the memories of last night to the back of his head, but he couldn’t – no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened.

He’d trusted Ernesto, he thought he was his friend – and yet, it turned out that after all this time, he really was just using him. Ernesto didn’t care about him – only wanted to make profit off of the songs _he_ wrote for _his daughter_. They were never meant to be heard by the public in the first place.

How foolish he had been, to have accepted Ernesto’s offer. If he’d just realized the truth sooner, then maybe he wouldn’t be stuck in this situation now.

And the worst part of it all was that Héctor had doubted his wife when she had expressed some distrust in Ernesto. He had insisted Ernesto was a good man – when all this time, he wasn’t. Imelda was right all along, and yet, he couldn’t even apologize to her for not believing her at first. God, what he would give to go back in time and stop this mess from ever happening…

Héctor’s thoughts were interrupted as he heard little footsteps rush down the stairs.

“Papá, Papá!” Coco cried out as she ran to her father.

“Yes, mi hija, what is it?” Héctor looked down at his daughter, just as she began to tug on his pants.

“Can you teach me how to play the guitar?” Coco asked, looking up at her father.

“Yes, of course,” Héctor answered. He smiled down at his daughter. Even in harsh times, she was his light – his pride and joy. And because she was his pride and joy, he would endure _anything_ just to make sure that she and her mother were safe.

Coco smiled and hugged her father’s legs. “Te quiero, Papi.”

Héctor knelt down and picked up his daughter, hugging her properly. “Yo también te quiero, mi niña.”

“Aww…”

The two turned, only to see Imelda standing by the doorway to the kitchen, with a small smile on her face. “You’re both too precious,” she said.

“Mamá!” Coco ran over to her mother and hugged her legs. “Papá is going to teach me how to play the guitar!”

“Is he, now?” Imelda asked, looking at her daughter, before she looked at Héctor.

He nodded. “Yes, this afternoon—”

“—ah, so good to see that everyone is awake,” a familiar voice interrupted.

Both Imelda and Héctor frowned as they saw Ernesto walk in.

“What, no ‘buenos días’?” Ernesto asked, pretending to look hurt by the couple’s silence.

“Buenos días, Tío Ernie,” Coco said, smiling at the man.

‘ _No. Not 'tío.' He’s anything but an uncle_ ,’ Héctor thought, recalling how Ernesto had threatened to hurt Coco the night before. But he could not object to his daughter calling the traitor ‘uncle,’ because he couldn’t let his suffering be known. All he could do was remain silent about it.

“Buenos días, Coco,” Ernesto said, his voice sounding saccharine sweet.

“Tío Ernie, Papá’s going to teach me how to play the guitar this afternoon!” Coco exclaimed as she waved her hands in the air, excited.

Ernesto paused, before he chuckled a little. “Oh – oh no, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid your padre will be very busy this afternoon.”

Coco’s smile faded as she looked at her dad for a moment. “Why?” she asked, turning back to Ernesto.

“He’s going to be writing some songs,” Ernesto explained. “Helping out a fellow musician. You understand, don’t you?”

Coco looked at the ground. “I…I guess…” she murmured, sounding a little disappointed.

Héctor tried to hide a scowl by biting his lip. Anger swelled inside him. This wasn’t part of the deal – not once, did Ernesto mention that he wouldn’t be able to spend time with his family; _his own child_. Not once did he give him a specific time to write the songs, he merely just said he’d do it.

Imelda walked over to her daughter and knelt down to her level. “No te pongas triste, hija mía.” She patted the little girl’s shoulders. “If you’d like, we can spend time together while Papá…” she hesitated for a moment to finish the sentence. “…finishes his job.”

Coco’s eyes lit up, and she nodded. “Okay.”

Héctor looked at his family, smiling sadly. He glanced back at Ernesto, who gave him a smug look.

The days to come after this one would be hell. He just knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, this has a happy ending. I will not spoil it, but it is a satisfying ending.
> 
> ~~also I've been thinking of writing another AU fic for Coco. Like I've got so many ideas for some alternate universes but there's this one idea I might start working on now so apologies if I skip a day to work on that~~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a really small, easy-to-miss Toy Story reference at the beginning of this chapter because I'm nostalgic. Also, some angst.

“Would you some tea, Mamá?” Coco asked as she held a small plastic teapot.

“Why, yes,” Imelda replied, playing along as she held her own teacup.

Coco tilted the teapot, making it look as if she were pouring tea into her mother’s cup. She then put the teapot down and clapped her hands, grabbing another small teacup and clanking it against her mother’s.

Imelda smiled at her daughter. No matter how each day started out, one thing was certain – if anyone could make it better, it was little Coco.

“Mamá…” Coco started, putting her teacup down. “…have you noticed something strange?”

Imelda stared at Coco, a little surprised at the girl’s question. “…yes, I have.”

“Oh, okay.” Coco picked up her teacup once more. “Because Tío’s been acting weird…” She paused. “…and Papá doesn’t usually let work get in the way of family – at least, that’s what he told me before; he wouldn’t put work before his familia, but…” Coco stopped once more. “I don’t know… it’s all strange…”

Imelda continued to stare at her daughter, soaking in every word the child had said. She didn’t expect such a mature tone from the child. Eventually, she replied with, “Yes, it is strange.”

“…I’m sorry,” Coco apologized, beginning to fiddle with her thumbs. “I didn’t mean to ruin the tea party.”

“Oh, no – no, no, no.” Imelda shook her head quickly. “It’s fine, mi hija. You are allowed to say whatever is on your mind.”

“Okay,” Coco mumbled quietly.

* * *

It didn’t take too long for Héctor to regret agreeing to the deal – or blackmail, whatever fit the situation best. Either way, Héctor kept looking back on the days when he actually had freedom – when he was able to object to anything wrong, when he was allowed to go home; all of the times he’d be able to do anything on a free will. And now, he was stuck with a fraud who he had once thought of as a friend.

Héctor merely watched as Ernesto went through his papers – papers containing lyrics for the songs _he_ wrote; lyrics that were now being stolen.

“Ah, _perfecto_ ,” Ernesto whispered, turning to the other man. “After our next performance, my legacy will begin. And, in a way, it’ll all be because of you.”

“But you’re not even going to give me decent credit, are you?” Héctor asked quietly. “All I’ll ever be known as is your guitarist, in the public’s eye.”

“Well, yes – but it’s not like you were really that charming to begin with,” Ernesto said bluntly. “A face like yours, on a poster? With a hooked nose like that? You’re better off being in the background.”

“I may not be the most handsome man in Mexico, but at least I don’t play music just to gain fame,” Héctor retorted. “And, I don’t resort to plagiarism for the sake of attracting a crowd.”

“It’s not plagiarism,” Ernesto argued. “I’m just…borrowing the songs, and the credit.”

“I thought borrowing things didn’t involve nearly fracturing one’s ribcage,” Héctor scoffed.

“Oh, quit your whining.” Ernesto glared at Héctor. “Your bones are in place, and you’re still alive – and no harm has come to your family. So if I were you, I’d get rid of this attitude of yours.”

Héctor gritted his teeth as his eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t have this attitude in the first place if you weren’t blackmailing me right now.”

Having enough of the man’s attitude, Ernesto backhanded his ‘friend’ across the face. “He tenido suficiente de tu actitud, Héctor!” he hissed. “Si quieres que tu preciosa niña y tu dama permanezcan ilesas, entonces deja de actuar como _una perra_.”

Héctor rubbed the sore parts of his face for a moment, before he glared at Ernesto. “Fine,” he muttered. “Pero no creas que voy a ser una presa fácil, mientras cantas una versión bastarda de 'Un Poco Loco' durante la próxima actuación.”

“Mi amigo, ya eres la presa,” Ernesto said, laughing a little. “Una vez más, he demostrado que soy más dominante que tú.”

‘ _That’s where you’re wrong_ ,’ Héctor thought to himself as he watched Ernesto continue to laugh. ‘ _The one with true dominance is the one who doesn’t back down easily. So, laugh while you can, because one day, you’ll get what you really deserve_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that ending wasn't what I initially planned out but it was an interesting turn.
> 
> With regards to Spanish dialogue: a translator (even the Google one) is your friend.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some bruises just can't be easily covered up.

> _“The loco that you make me,_
> 
> _It is just un poco crazy,_
> 
> _The sense that you're not making—”_

Imelda scowled as she turned off the radio. It hadn’t taken long for Ernesto’s performances to be recorded by some audience members, much less aired in some stations. What ticked her off the most about this was that while it was a love song, it was _her_ and _Héctor’s_ song. And yet again, Ernesto bastardized it.

She folded her arms she sat on the bed, thinking back to when things were simple – when it was just her, Héctor and their sweet little Coco. She missed their home, she missed waking up to the sounds of laughter from her husband and daughter – she missed the days when Ernesto wasn’t in the picture.

Imelda heard a slight creaking noise, causing her to tense up a bit as she turned to the door, only to see it open. She immediately recognized the person standing in the doorway. “Oh, Héctor—” she stopped as she noticed something about the man.

His face had some bruises on it – bruises that, from a far distance, wouldn’t be recognizable, but in the dimly-lit room… Imelda could see them clearly.

“Ay dios mío,” she whispered as she stood up, walking towards him. She placed a hand on his cheek. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” Héctor answered, moving her hand aside. “I just – fell.”

“You don’t get multiple bruises from falling face first onto the ground,” Imelda said, frowning as she watched him place his guitar by the bed.

“How do you know that? It’s possible.”

“Ah, yes – it’s just as possible as a xolo flying.”

Héctor sighed. “Imelda, I’m _fine_. There’s no need to worry about me.”

“'No need to worry'?” Imelda repeated. “I think there is a need to worry, because you look like someone beat you with the back of their hand!”

Héctor groaned in frustration. “Just—just drop it, Imelda!”

“Not until you tell me what really happened,” Imelda said firmly, placing her hands on her hips.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Héctor shook his head as he looked down at the ground.

“Why not?” Imelda asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I just can’t, okay?” Héctor covered his face with his hands as he continued to shake his head. “Even if I could tell you, it wouldn’t fix anything.”

Imelda paused. “…what do you mean by that?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You have bruises on your face. If you tell me who gave you these bruises, I’ll kick their ass – how is that so complicated?”

“You don’t understand what I’m going through right now!”

“Maybe I don’t, but what kind of wife would I be if I just did nothing while my husband suffered?”

“And what kind of husband would I be if I put my wife in possible danger?!” Héctor began to breathe in and out, as the words had left his mouth.

“Danger?” Imelda registered what her husband had just said. “What danger? Héctor, what are you—”

“Forget it—just forget what I said,” the man grumbled as he got in bed. He pulled the covers over him, mumbling, “Goodnight.”

Imelda watched as he drifted off to sleep. She shook her head, letting out a sigh as she, too, got into the bed.

Once she settled down under the covers, she gently placed a hand on her husband’s back.

“Mi pobre amante…” she whispered quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried going for a animated film-like argument scene for this chapter. I just hope I did it justice...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this story is actually going to end soon…not now, obviously, but soon. Didn’t say this before because I was contemplating on whether or not I could handle writing a story that’s more than at least 11 chapters, and honestly? With projects, deadlines and the holidays coming up, I think it’s best to give this story a wrap. Besides, it’s not like I wasn’t planning on finishing it at chapter 10. I can’t handle letting Héctor suffer that long lol.  
> It’s been a fun time writing this, and I hope some of you guys will enjoy the sequel that’ll be up once I finish this. Thank you all for your comments and kudos, it means the world to me. <3

The next day, one question ran through Imelda’s mind as she paced back and forth in the bedroom: what was going on with Héctor?

He was hiding something – that was certain, but what could it be? It had to be something serious, since his attitude yesterday…it was concerning, to say the least.

Still, it didn’t make any sense. Who would do such a terrible thing to a kind man like Héctor? He hadn’t done anything wrong. Sure, there were times where he was just _too much_ but…he’d never done anything to deserve bruises.

So who did it? Who was the man responsible for all of the – assuming that it was an ongoing thing, with how Héctor had been coughing pretty badly before – abuse? And how bad was this man, if he’d managed to scare her husband into keeping it all a secret?

One thing was certain: once Imelda found out who the culprit was, she would do more than just beat him with a shoe. That was a promise.

“Wait,” Imelda whispered. She recalled how she’d thrown one of her boots at Ernesto, and how angry he’d been at her – but she didn’t throw the boot without reason; it was to get back at him for taking advantage of her husband.

Her eyes widened. “No, he wouldn’t…” she trailed off, thinking of how Héctor wasn’t able to stand up to Ernesto when he tried profiting off of his songs. Was it possible that Ernesto had blackmailed Héctor into keeping quiet, so that he could continue to take advantage of him without repercussions?

“…he did,” Imelda murmured, putting a hand to her cheek as she slowly put the pieces together. The bruises, the continuing plagiarism, Héctor’s little ‘slip-ups’ – it was all because of Ernesto.

“ _Maldito bastardo_.” She gritted her teeth as she headed to the door, opening it and slamming it behind her. She had made a promise, and so she would keep her word – even if she hadn’t said it to anyone. That wasn’t going to stop her from grinding Ernesto into a pulp.

However, before Imelda could make her way to Ernesto’s room, she felt something tug at the side of her dress. She looked down and saw Coco, staring back up at her with a curious look in her eyes.

“Mamá, what are you doing?” the little girl asked.

“I’m going to take care of some business,” Imelda replied. She knelt down to her daughter’s level and placed her hands on the child’s shoulders. “Coco, do you remember what I told you that night we stayed at the inn?” When her daughter nodded, she continued, “Well, now is the time to go get those men with the badges.”

Coco’s eyes widened. “What happened?” Terror was evident in the child’s tone as she questioned her mother.

“I can’t tell you right now,” Imelda said, looking back at the door to Ernesto’s room. She turned back to her daughter and urged her, “Just go, now!”

“But what about Pa—” Coco was interrupted by her mother before she could finish her question.

“ _Por favor_ , Socorro!” Imelda pleaded. “Solo ve y encuentra a esos hombres!”

The little girl merely nodded and quickly ran to do as her mother instructed.

Once her daughter was gone, Imelda continued walking towards Ernesto’s room before she finally made it to the door. She twisted the doorknob – however, the door would not open. She put her ear to the door, listening carefully.

“I can’t believe you almost told her!” she heard Ernesto whisper harshly.

“The words just slipped out of my mouth – but I swear, I didn’t tell her the truth!” Héctor defended himself.

“You still gave her hints, idiota! Have you forgotten our deal, or must I say it again? Keep your mouth shut, and your lady and little girl will remain unharmed.”

Imelda seethed with anger. How dare he threaten to hurt an innocent little girl and abuse her husband, just so he could get what he wanted?

“Ernesto, please, just—”

Imelda’s heart stopped beating for a second as she heard glass shatter and a ‘thud’ afterwards. She began kicking at the door roughly, until finally, it opened.

She placed her hand over mouth as she saw Héctor on the floor, rubbing his head. Next to him were bits of broken glass, and a tooth.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Ernesto, who stared at her, looking surprised.

“Sabes qué, Ernesto?” she asked, faking a calm tone. “ _Eres un inútil hijo de puta._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, kind of a cliffhanger here but I honestly just wanted to end it there because hey, I don't know how else to end it. XD 
> 
> If any non-Spanish speaking reader is confused by the 'Socorro' part: it's Coco's real name, as confirmed by Lee Unkrich. 'Coco' is an affectionate way of referring to someone named 'Socorro.' 
> 
> Also remember: a translator - yes, even google's translator - is your friend! If you don't get basic Spanish, then just go find your buddy and then you'll understand some of the Spanish dialogue.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we come a step closer to the conclusion. 
> 
> Man, I can’t believe that there’s only one more chapter to go before this little monster is completed. Gah, I don’t know how to feel. Like, this seems all so surreal to me – it’s all so wild, bizarre and I just? I have no words.
> 
> P.S.: I have no idea how police, doctors or dentists worked in the 1800s in Mexico so any vague description I give is me winging it.

“You know, I consider myself a reasonable woman,” Imelda started as she took a few steps closer to Ernesto, “I don’t think mindless violence is okay by any means, but…”

Her face was only inches away from Ernesto’s now. She poked his chest with a finger as she whispered, “Hurt the only family I have, and I’ll kick your cunt in.”

Ernesto looked at her finger for a moment, before scoffing. “As if a woman like you could—” He didn’t get to finish his sentence, as she kicked him where the sun didn’t shine.

He let out a groan as he fell to his knees, before letting out another one as she hit his head with one of her boots.

“Eso está lastimando el amor de mi vida!” Imelda cried out.

Héctor’s eyes gleamed a bit as he asked, “Soy el amor de tu vida?”

“No, I just married you and gave birth to your child at the age of nineteen for fun,” Imelda replied sarcastically, turning to him. “Yes, you’re the love of my life!”

For a quick, good measure, she kneed Ernesto in the stomach. “Touch my husband again, and I’ll make you wish you were never born,” she whispered.

Héctor watched as she began to breathe in, then out. After a few breathes, he slowly got up. His head was sore – but, he tried not to dwell his mind on the pain, for that would only make it worse. He walked over to his wife, and placed his hands on her shoulders.

She immediately turned to him. “Are you alright? Does it still hurt?” she asked.

“A little,” he replied. “But luckily, there aren’t any cuts. Just a headache.” He then felt the empty gap where one tooth used to be. “And a missing tooth. Guess I’ll have to get a golden tooth, huh?”

Imelda chuckled a little. “I guess so…” She looked over at Ernesto, who was still, thankfully, in place. She then looked back at Héctor. “This is my fault, isn’t it?” She smiled sadly. “I provoked him, after all—”

“—Imelda, no,” Héctor said, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. He’s just – there’s something wrong with his head. But all of this…it’s not your fault.”

Imelda was silent for a moment. She wrapped her arms around Héctor, hugging him—not too tightly, though.

Héctor smiled and rubbed his wife’s back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his daughter and two policemen. It was then and there that he felt a large weight being lifted off his shoulders.

But even with this weight gone, he knew he wouldn’t forget what had happened. He’d never forget.

* * *

 

After the arrest of Ernesto, the first thing the Rivera family did was clear things up – showing evidence that it was Héctor who wrote the songs, not Ernesto. In time, the truth was revealed – that Ernesto was nothing but a lying, manipulative cheat and that Héctor was the true artist behind it all.

The next thing they did was go to the hospital, despite a few protests from Héctor. A doctor had taken a look at him, and proclaimed that he’d have to rest for a while for his inner injuries to fully heal. He gave Héctor some medicine, and then pulled him aside into another room for an hour. When Héctor came out, there was a golden tooth in place of the small gap in his gums. A miracle worker, that doctor was.

The last thing they did was pack their bags, and board a wagon home – their real home, in Santa Cecilia. During the whole ride, Coco had clung to her father’s side. Her parents understood why, as any five year-old would be shaken up over a situation where they’d have to get the police involved.

“Papá, what do we do now?” Coco had asked at one point, during the ride home.

“Move on, I suppose,” Héctor had replied.

One thing was certain: he would never work with musicians again after this. Of course he’d still play music, but whenever he thought of musicians, he now had a foul taste in his mouth. Perhaps it was trauma, or maybe, it was bitterness. He couldn’t find a difference between the two anymore – because for him, they were now linked together.

It had taken a day to get home, but when the family found themselves in Santa Cecilia, they noticed something different about the town. Everything felt a little bit gloomier now. Was it homesickness that made them feel this way, or was it something else? None of them knew.

When they got to their house, they didn’t go inside right away. Instead, Coco had begun to follow a stray cat to the backyard. She giggled as she attempted to grab the cat’s tail several times, but to no avail.

Héctor and Imelda sat down on the porch, contemplating the events that had unfolded over the past few days. Silence had been present for a while, until Héctor finally spoke up.

“You know, the truth is…I don’t think that, even without this mess, we would’ve actually gotten to tour the country,” he admitted.

Imelda looked at him with a curious expression. “Really?”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine spending such a long period of time away from home – with no chance to genuine time with you and little Coco, as a family.” Héctor then shook his head. “But now that we’re home, I don’t know what we’re going to do… certainly nothing involving musicians, that’s for sure – but, what’s next in store for us?”

Imelda pondered for a moment. Then, an idea came into mind. “Shoe-making?” she suggested.

Héctor tilted his head, a little confused. “Shoe-making…?” He paused. “…why?”

Imelda shrugged. “Well, it’s not like there’s other business ideas out there that haven’t been used already. And besides, while music nearly tore us apart, maybe shoes are the key to keeping us together.”

“Hmm…” Héctor rubbed his chin for a moment. “…I don’t see why not. Sure.”


	10. El Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, it all ends.  
> You know, I’ll be honest – when I first started this thing, I was worried about what type of feedback I’d receive. I’m still kind of a beginner, and well, I haven’t had the best of luck with finishing projects in the past. But when I wrote this, I wanted to test myself to see if I could get a little better at writing – and if I could actually finish a project within the same month it began instead of taking a long hiatus.  
> So when I read some comments, I was…honestly, shocked. Maybe I’m just used to not getting any type of feedback. But seriously, I appreciate it all. I really do.  
> At first there's focus on Hector in the beginning, but it pans to Imelda with regards to her past... you'll see what I mean.  
> Now if you'll excuse me for a moment, I'm going to cry because I can't believe it's _over_

Héctor had thought that perhaps maybe, just maybe, sleep would be the one thing to fully calm his nerves after everything that had happened.

He was wrong. Very wrong. One did not easily forget abuse, and he learned this the hard way during the night. He remembered it all too vividly – the hits and blows he’d taken couldn’t be forgotten, those scars were permanent, even if they weren’t present on his skin.

Héctor woke up in the middle of the night. He sat up in bed, and slowly breathed in and out as to not lose his breath. He looked at his side, where Imelda rested, and wondered what he did to deserve someone like her – someone so fierce and feisty, yet so caring. He loved her, yet at the same time, wondered why she chose him – she could have settled down with any bachelor out there, but she chose him; a hooked-nosed, lanky man.

It perplexed him, to say the least.

For a few more minutes, it was only he who was awake, until Imelda began to stir. She opened her eyes, and stared at him for a moment. “Héctor, why are you awake? It is the middle of the night.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he answered, scratching the back of his head. “I was having some…flashbacks.”

“Oh,” was all Imelda said in response. She held her arms open, allowing him to hug her tightly. She patted his back a bit. How ironic, that the roles had been reversed.

“I thought that maybe, in sleep, I would be fine,” Héctor began, “but it turns out that memories can haunt someone even when they’re trying to rest their body. I wish I could forget him, and what he had done to me, but I can’t.”

Imelda remained silent for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Then, one thought came into her mind. “I know that this isn’t the most reassuring response, but…” She took a deep breath in, before exhaling. “I know how it feels to be mistreated by someone close – and while my experience isn’t like yours, I want you to know that you’re not alone.”

Héctor raised an eyebrow, pulling away from the hug as he looked at her, confused. “What do you mean by that?”

Imelda looked him in the eye. “My father was not a good man,” she said simply. “Neither me or my younger brothers knew what he was really like for most of our childhood. He hid behind a smile and false words, until one day – it was late at night, when we woke up to the sounds of people screaming at each other. It was our mother and father. I was nine, while my brothers were eight, so since we were only children, our curiosity had gotten the better of us. We went to see what was going on, when we heard our parents’ argument – word for word.

Mamá was criticizing Papá on his apparent drinking habits, and for being unfaithful to her and to us. Apparently, not all of his outings were him going to work or visiting his friends’ houses.” She laughed bitterly. “He’d been going out to bars, and at times, even hung out with some women – whether the women in question had husbands or not. I don’t know if he had done _it_ with them, but if he did, l wouldn't be surprised. Of course, like any reasonable woman, Mamá didn’t want him influencing us. So she kept screaming at him that she’d take me and my brothers, so that we’d be safe from any possible misfortune to come out of his drunken states. So Felipe, Óscar and I quickly headed back upstairs before they could find out we were eavesdropping – and before going back to sleep, we all prayed for the same thing: that Mamá would take us with her without any troubles.

But we were wrong. The next morning, when Mamá had already helped Felipe and Óscar pack their bags and get in the wagon, Papá suddenly grabbed me and dragged me back into the house with him. I kicked and screamed but his grip only got tighter.” Her voice was now shaking, as she once again took a deep breath in. “Mamá begged him to let go, but when he did, he then leaned closer to her and whispered something into her ear. Then, she began to walk out of the house – but when I tried following her, she told me, ‘No, Imelda. You’re staying with your father.’”

“What?” Héctor's eyes were now as wide as plates. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Did that woman suddenly become insane? Why would she want you to stay with an alcoholic?”

Imelda shrugged. “I don’t know. He said something to her, and she then just decided that she would only take my brothers, leaving me with him. Of course, I tried going with him despite what she had said, but Papá grabbed me by the waist, and I could only watch as Mamá and brothers’ figures became more blurry as the wagon went further and further away from the house, until they were out of sight. From then on, Father had decided that since he was unable to take his frustration out on Mamá, as she had left him, he would take it out on me instead. If I did the slightest thing wrong, he would take off one boot and hit me with it – usually, he would hit my back or my head; never my face, as I ‘looked like a little porcelain doll’ in his eyes. There were days where he’d get so drunk, he’d throw his boots at me for no reason other than the fact that it gave him pleasure. He even got his friends to throw their shoes at one point – imagine, a bunch of grown men laughing as they throw their shoes at a little girl because it ‘sends them into a state of pure ecstasy.’

When I turned eleven, I decided that I had enough of his abusive, drunken behavior – no longer would I be a toy he would try to break. So, one night, when he left for the bar, I made sure the neighbors were inside their houses. When I was sure that no one was watching me, I took a small bag with some food and water, and I left behind my old home, following a trail. At the time, I didn’t care where this trail would take me, as long as I was away from that _mierda enferma_.” Imelda’s voice was filled with venom as she spat the last words out. “After a few hours of following the trail, I had stopped by a town nearby, and sat down in an alley near a restaurant. I ate some food, drank – and just relaxed for a while. Then, a man no older than thirty stopped by, asking me if I was alone – if I had any family. I told him ‘no.’ I told him I had no family, because the only family I had ever known had fallen apart – my father hurt me, my mother left me, and my brothers were far away. So, he offered me to come with him to an orphanage, where I would be taken care of until someone came to take me in as their own. I had nothing left for me at the time, so I accepted his offer.”

“Did you ever get adopted, though?” Héctor asked.

“No.” Imelda shook her head. “That man ended up being the closest thing to a true guardian I’d ever had – at least, until my eighteenth birthday. When I turned eighteen, I decided I would take care of myself from then on. So I packed my bags, and bid him farewell. Soon, I started a new life in Santa Cecilia – and a few months after that, I met you.” She smiled once more. “At the beginning, I didn’t expect to fall for you but, somehow, you found a way into my heart. I wasn’t lying back there when I said you and Coco were the only family I had now. It’s true – you two are all that I have left now, so…when I found out Ernesto had hurt you, I had to do something about it.”

Héctor paused for a moment, soaking in all that his wife had just told him. Yet, there was still one thing that nagged at him. “…Imelda, if your father used shoes to hurt you, then – why the shoe business?”

“It’s a way of reclaiming things,” Imelda explained. “Even after leaving him, I couldn’t escape shoes. They were comfortable to wear, and I liked the way they shined in the light and the sounds they made whenever tapped against the floor – so I turned the one thing he used against me into my own personal weapon, and now, I center my business on shoes.”

“I suppose that makes some sense,” Héctor murmured, wrapping his arms around Imelda again.

“Yes...” She leaned into his touch, and they sat in bed for a while.

In a way, they were each other’s anchors. Whenever he spoke up about his experiences, she listened – and whenever _she_ spoke up about her experiences, _he_ listened. They didn’t have a lot in common, aside from being taken advantage of by people whom they once trusted, but they still clung to one another.

In time, they’d move on from this mess, because in the end, Ernesto didn’t get away with anything.

And somehow, Héctor had found Imelda’s story to be not reassuring, but inspiring. For if she could move on from the hardships she’d faced, perhaps, in time, he could move on from the pain he’d been put through.

They both knew one thing though: as long as the family was together, everything would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so maybe it's not the ~best finale ever~, but you know what? I had fun writing this fic while it lasted, so that's all that matters in the end and I'm not gonna mope around just because it's not the whole typical "fairy tale Disney ending" type of thing. Bittersweet endings are just something I'm used to, and it's not like I had any other plans for how this would end anyhow.
> 
> With that aside, I also feel like I should give a bit of premise on the sequel – it’s a family reunion type of fic (as in, miguel's gonna meet his great-great grandparents and dead relatives), so expect some skeletons in the closet, if you know what I mean. It's also gonna be called "el mundo es mi familia."


End file.
